


Undercover

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Female Alpha/Female Omega - Freeform, Knotting, Multifandom Tropefest 2019, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-12-22 22:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: An FBI agent goes undercover to catch a con artist suspected of having murdered her latest mark.That FBI agent may be in for something rather different than she had anticipated.





	Undercover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dire_quail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dire_quail/gifts).

“Dinner’s on me,” Lucy said. “Just to be clear. So feel free to order whatever you want.”

Another woman might have argued, might have insisted that they split the bill evenly on the first date. Celeste, however, definitely wasn’t that kind of woman. “Okay,” she said easily, not even the thinnest pretense of protest. A long pause while she reviewed the menu. Then, as if merely an afterthought, after she’d already ordered a wagyu steak and a bottle of the house’s most expensive red wine, “Thank you for treating.”

“No problem. I can afford it.”

And it really wasn’t a problem because it wasn’t really Lucy’s money they were spending, so she really could afford it. The money for dinner tonight actually belonged to the Federal Bureau of Investigation; Lucy was actually an FBI special agent; and this dinner date was actually part of an undercover operation.

Celeste, unsurprisingly, was the unwitting target of said undercover operation. As far as Celeste was aware, she’d met Lucy through algorithm matching on an online dating app and had been texting back and forth casually with her for several weeks. They’d even tried a bit of sexting, which had likely been a bit one-sided, considering the circumstances. Still, they’d seemed to get on well—precisely as Lucy had intended they would—and agreed to meet in person. This dinner was their first face-to-face date.

Lucy ordered the wagyu steak for herself as well. It made her look free with money, _and_ it made her seem more like Celeste in taste and inclination, which was always good in a dating context . . . and _especially _good in dating contexts where the date you wanted to attract and impress was a narcissistic con artist who liked separating gullible romantic partners from their life savings.

Celeste had gotten caught for that eventually, and she’d done hard time in federal prison. Now, though, she was on the outside again and by all rights ought to know better than to resume her old habits. But once a narcissistic con artist, always a narcissistic con artist, apparently—and Celeste had added a new trick to her repertoire on top of it.

That new trick being _murder_.

* * *

_Two Months Earlier_

“Death of a salesman?” Lucy muttered. “Seriously? I feel like I’m in an Arthur Miller play.”

“Ben Yoon wasn’t just just any salesman,” the Section Chief reminded her. “This particular salesman was taking home over $11.6 million annually, and he had nearly $2 billion in assets socked away in real estate and mutual funds. You all read up on the Celeste Pryce case?”

Lucy sighed; she was. And she wasn’t thrilled about it. It was the sort of case with a criminal m.o. that ended up profiled on _Dateline_ or _48 Hours_: charming, pretty female Alpha seduces gullible rich male Omegas (and the occasional gullible rich female Omega, since this is twenty-first century America and gender discrimination is just soooo passé) and separates them for all their money. But this Celeste Pryce woman couldn’t have even been that good at being a con artist, not if she’d gotten caught.

This was the sort of case and the sort of criminal, in other words, that bored Lucy half to tears.

“Well, Ms. Pryce has leveled up her game, it seems,” the Section Chief continued, “to murder.”

“But I thought Yoon’s death was ruled accidental?” Lucy had to admit that she was surprised by this development.

“Ah, see, here’s where it gets interesting. The coroner’s report came back last week, and his bank commissioned some additional investigation on that basis.” The Section Chief handed Lucy Yoon’s file. Lethal fentanyl overdose. Yoon had no history of drug abuse, but then, neither did Celeste Pryce. “One more thing you should know: Yoon has a life insurance policy worth a quarter of a billion dollars.”

Lucy sighed again. “Let me guess.”

“Got it in one. He didn’t take out that policy for his ex-wife or his three adult children. Celeste Pryce is listed as sole beneficiary. They met online six months ago and have been dating. You see why they’re suspicious, and the bank won’t authorize the payout if she killed him for his money. They’d rather not have to pay out at all, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Lucy echoed. “Why did you call me in?” Even though she was asking the question, she suspected she already knew the answer. The Section Chief’s suspicions were enough to open an investigation.

“You’re the only Omega in the Section who’s not on assignment at the moment, so you’re going undercover. We want you to get close to Ms. Pryce and get evidence . . . or we want you to catch her in the act when she tries it again. A chance to bag the beautiful Ms. Pryce—looks like it’s your lucky day!”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, don’t forget to keep a dose of naloxone handy. Just in case she tries to off you, too.”

“Uh huh.”

* * *

When Celeste invited Lucy back to her apartment after dinner, Lucy accepted. The normal expectation when it came to these sorts of arrangements _was_ sex, after all. And if the apartment in the nice part of town and its luxuriously appointed interior were to be taken as any indication, previous lovers—Ben Yoon as well as several others, Lucy was certain—had been generous with their gifts.

Celeste wasn’t a con artist when it came to the bedroom, though—she was just an honest-to-goodness, mindblowingly _fabulous_ fuck.

Although Lucy was an Omega, she didn’t just turn into a weeping, gaping hole of need whenever Alphas made themselves available. She needed good, tender loving care to get into the appropriate mood, and Celeste gave her everything she needed and more. Celeste kissed her, teasing and gentle, and licked long, loving stripes down her throat and her breasts. She pinched at Lucy’s inner labia and stretched them, and she pried back the hood of Lucy’s clitoris until the swollen glans was exposed, and then she rubbed it with her thumb until Lucy was practically screaming to be filled, to be knotted, and then Celeste did precisely that.

The fit was exquisite, the rhythm and aim of Celeste’s thrusts extraordinarily precise. They writhed and twisted and rolled about in the bed, limbs tangled, hips crashing together again and again. And when, after many minutes, Celeste pushed her knot into Lucy and began to climax, the pressure and the flood of wet warmth against her g-spot was so intense that Lucy climaxed, too.

* * *

On the balance, the undercover op was working out well. Lucy was spending a lot of time with Celeste, and Celeste didn’t suspect a thing. On the other hand, she’d gotten no closer to pinning Ben Yoon’s murder on Celeste _or_—for better or for worse—becoming the next Ben Yoon-esque murder victim herself.

As a matter of fact, dating Celeste was, apart from the extravagant amount of money it inevitably entailed, a rather banal affair. When they weren’t eating out at expensive restaurants or spending the day spending on extravagant shopping trips, they were hanging out at Celeste’s apartment or Lucy’s (or, rather, the Very Nice™ apartment the Bureau had rented out for Lucy in her name, which she pretended was her crash pad away from prying eyes). Or, they were having sex. Lots and lots of really, really hot sex.

Further, after several weeks with Celeste, Lucy had learned that she hadn’t really needed to act like a Sugar Mommy during their first date. Celeste, as it turned out, had more than enough money of her own to keep her in wagyu steaks and expensive liquors for a very long time. Previous benefactors, including Ben Yoon, presumably, had been exceedingly generous, and Celeste wasn’t afraid of flaunting her good fortune.

She showed no outward sign of guilt over his passing, needless to say. She never even discussed his death at all. If she knew she was the beneficiary of Yoon’s life insurance policy, she did not say so.

Which made it even more odd that none of this extravagant wealth was, as best Lucy could tell, being spent on drugs or other illicit substances. Celeste’s only indulgence was that aforementioned expensive wine, and she sipped, never gulped, and most of what was left turned to vinegar in the wine cabinet long before Celeste considered returning for it. That was odd.

After three months undercover, the most interesting thing Lucy had to report about Celeste was, well, how _un-_narcissistic and un-con-artist-like she was behaving. When Lucy went into heat in spite of her suppressant regimen, Celeste stayed with by her side for the entirety of those three agonizing days, fucking her until she was boneless and deliciously sore and then feeding her homemade chicken noodle soup with a spoon so that she didn’t lose her strength. She was really sweet to Lucy, actually—and better behaved than any of Lucy’s _real_ girlfriends had ever been.

* * *

It thus came as both relief and an odd sense of letdown when, after five months, Lucy received a cryptic text message from her Section Chief instructing her to report in to the office ASAP.

When she arrived, the Section Chief was jubilant; they had a confession! “Yoon’s daughter turned her brothers in. Said they killed their own father and tried to frame Celeste Pryce for the murder. They couldn’t forgive him for spending half his fortune on a former criminal, evidently. We have an APB out for their arrest.”

“Was the daughter a first- or second-sex child?” Lucy asked.

“Second sex. The brothers were Yoon’s first-sex children,” the Second Chief said.

Lucy sighed. A textbook example of divided loyalties between children of a two-sex parent if ever there was one. Two-sex humans came in two varieties: male Omegas and female Alphas. Their first sex was the sex they were born as—male or female—and if a male child later presented at adolescence as an Omega or a female as an Alpha, they were considered two-sexed. Betas, male Alphas, and female Omegas like Lucy were all one-sexed.

In the case of Ben Yoon, he’d fathered two sons on his female Alpha ex-wife and conceived and carried one daughter himself that his Alpha ex-wife had gotten on him. It was often said that a child’s primary loyalty was always to the parent which carried them in the womb, and in this case the stereotype was undoubtedly true.

“Well, I guess that means I should wrap things up with Celeste Pryce,” Lucy said. “If she’s no longer a suspect?”

Her Section Chief nodded distractedly. Lucy left the office without any further discussion and headed straight for Celeste’s apartment.

* * *

The Yoon brothers got to Celeste before Lucy could. By the time she arrived at Celeste’s apartment, they were already dying from Fentanyl overdoses on the apartment’s fine, hardwood floor. Celeste herself was unresponsive, her breathing shallow, her pulse dangerously slow.

Fortunately, Lucy still had that one emergency dose of naloxone.

* * *

“Did you suspect?” Lucy asked.

Celeste laughed weakly. “I had no idea, actually! Guess that means the cop conned the con artist. And here I was, hoping to settle down . . .”

After administering the shot of naloxone, Lucy had called 911, and Celeste had been rushed to the hospital. Celeste had been put under observation, pending further inquiry, but she’d recovered nicely and was probably due to be discharged within the next hour.

“I really loved him, you know, and I think he loved me,” Celeste continued. She didn’t say his name, but Lucy knew she was referring to Ben Yoon. “But he had . . . baggage, and I didn’t want that.” Baggage in the form of his three adult children, obviously. “We broke it off, and I did my best to forget. I didn’t even know he was dead.” Celeste’s beautiful face was wan and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought we had something, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So we didn’t, then? Was it all pretend?” There was a hint of Celeste’s old con artist slyness in her expression all of a sudden.

“Well.” Lucy cleared her throat. “I’m not really rich. FBI special agents do okay, but we don’t live extravagantly, as a rule.”

“I have enough money for the both of us,” Celeste said.

“Really.” It wasn’t a question.

“Really.”

Lucy paused and considered. Oh, why the hell not? There were worse ways this story could end.

* * *

_~ The End ~_

* * *


End file.
